Recipe for Such a Sunday

posted 16 Mar 2003, 12PM | 6 Comments

[Begin with focused moment, thickscene wordpiles i.e. the flicker of eyelids against futon, cacophony of car-alarm-clocks and sore back muscles under angled first-daylight rays, etc]

It's a proper Sunday this morning, a 67 degree, Mother's Day in May, spring-cleaning-with-a-smile, morning after the rain, stroll to the coffe shop with a newspaper, catch up on some reading and writing sort of a Sunday. [extrapolate with usual sixfoot6entimental b.s. here, i.e. cup of tea, warm shower, kids playing in bright air, etc...]

While walking to the strip mall coffeeshop, I realized that yesterday's dark day of rain was worth it [dark how? visually dark, wet, sopping; reference obvious parallel to emotional dark/recovery, withdrawal after weekend in Austin, missing girl(s), busy visit from Mom and sister, rainy Saturday, first latesleepslop around the house in weeks, and so on] The storm had washed away the smog, and the sun had washed away the rain, and out came no cars to ruin the view, clear as New England spring. [revise; too itsy-bitsy spider Frost. i will never write again. please kill me.]

Sleeping late inside the sounds of rain was a treat. I spent much of yesterday's downpour on the phone. I saw lightning for the first time since I moved to Los Angeles. The flash was bright. And as began to describe the brightness to my phone, the thunderclap BLASTED me upright in my chair. Children yelled, and every car alarm on my street sounded for a full 30 seconds. The electric charge must have released within a quarter-mile of our apartment. [wtf? this is going nowhere. describe emptiness of rain, the weight. uncertain creativity. love, sadness, need to get a better job, whatever]

After hours and hours in my apartment, I drove my roomate Joshua to the airport. We stopped at Mel's diner for reubens, coffee and fries. He was flying back to Boston to visit a girl, again. They were in love, he told me. It amazed me how happy I was to hear it, and as I drove home on the slippery 405 I rediscovered something I had forgotten only hours earlier: there is nothing worth fearing, be it love, money or politics, and I'm going to be all right. The rainy days exist for me to rediscover that fearlessness [blah, blah, as I watch SNL and email and look at photos from last weekend, unfaltering, clear-headed, goodnight sleep, wake fresh and early in today, Sunday.]

Morning has turned to afternoon. I still haven't done my taxes. One month left. Hell. Way to ruin my carefree Sunshineday, when there's so much to be done and so much I want to do. [end with more elaborate witty / touching close, culpable but empowered].

There are 6 Comments


16 Mar 03 at 12:48PM R. said:

"One month left" is the countdown to a lot of things, in perpetuity.


16 Mar 03 at 01:51PM Lisser said:

But at least it's a little bit cooler now.


16 Mar 03 at 02:34PM Adam said:

I think my pulse dropped 20. That's a good thing. Thanks once again.


18 Mar 03 at 07:20AM dave said:

1. Rye, the weather outside yesterday in Mass was everything you miss. 60 Degrees (before May, no less), sunny, with that whole post rain, wet pavement feel. Truly awesome.

2. I always find out Joshua is in Boston NOT BECAUSE HE LETS ME KNOW, but because he lets YOU know. OOOH...Joshua's in love...that's WAY cooler than calling his two friends left in the state from which he split....OOOH, I'm so HAPPY for Joshua.
(no, seriously, I am. But I hate him)


18 Mar 03 at 09:58AM Erin said:

Hmm - After reading this entry - complete with its 'to the author / to the reader' commentary - John Barth, I guess specifically Lost in the Funhouse, popped into my mind. It's like you're equipping the reader with instructions and warnings and gently admonishing yourself at the same time. I like it. You're craftily not leaving much room for personal or reader disatisfaction by bracketing it before it can happen.
Been reading any late sixties fiction lately?


18 Mar 03 at 11:00AM ryan said:

Erin - I've never read Lost in the Funhouse, or any John Barth, or much late 60s sci-fi for that matter. But I should, especially if it's as interesting as you describe. One more book on the "To be read" pile that I'll never get to. It's sad, really.

Dave - yeah, Josh can be a bitch, but that's why we love him. He's spent the weekend cuddling, eating breakfast, enjoying dinner with his parents, and enjoying the weather you're talking about. I hate him too.

By the way - in reference to the fifth paragraph of this post: my fear of this war is now becoming tangible. Beyond the repurcussions of our invasion / global community / cowboy foreign policy, etc... I'm concerned, now, about all the people I love in New York, all the friends I have here in LA should something dangerous, insane, chemical or biological go down here at home. That sort of thing is hard to let go.

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